
I'KK.SI'.Wriil 



i'HV.SKxn-:n isy 



THE SAILOR WHO HAS SAILED 



THE SAILOR WHO 
HAS SAILED 

AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 

BENJAMIN R. C. LOW 



NEW YORK 
JOHN LANE COMPANY 

MCMXI 






^.'.^ 






Copyright, 1911 
By John Lane Company 



Gift 
tec i 181 t 



THK UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, V. S. A. 



TO 

MY MOTHER 



Contents 

Page 

The Sailor Who Has Sailed ... 9 

The Vigil-at-arms 11 

Any Young Man 20 

The Fourth Window 29 

Invocation 47 

Dedication 49 

Forever 51 

Tristan to Iseult, on the Sea. . . 53 

Penelope 60 

LlEBESTOD 

I. Love and Death 67 

II. Love Without Death 74 

Seaward 80 

Even-Song 82 

Sanctuary 84 

In April 86 

Fragment Written in a Time of 

Drought 89 

Border Things 91 

To the Absolute 92 



Contents 

Page 

Israel 98 

Galatea 107 

The Garden of Sleep no 

The Glory that was Greece ... 115 

To Edgar Allan Poe 117 

After a Visit to a Far Country . 119 

To A Nereid 121 

In an Anthology 123 

After Seeing Lake Maggiore for 

the First Time 125 

In Memoriam J. B. A 127 

New York 128 

To A Little Girl Watering a Plant 

in the Window of a Tenement . 136 

The "Sandwich Man" 140 

Requiem in the Snow. 143 

The Use of it All 149 

For Youth 153 

On a Maiden Narrowly Escaping 

Capture by a Shark 157 

Alma Mater Yalensis 162 

The Troubadour ......... 164 

For Art's Sake 168 

hiKE A Wave of the Sea 170 



THE SAILOR WHO HAS SAILED 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

I HAVE dreamed the dream of the unknown sea, 

And stood on the sightless shore ; 
I have looked in the eyes of reality . . . 

And I am young no more. 

There were old sea-kings that led me far 

With songs of the ancient quest; 
There were sails that followed the still north-star, 

And helms that hung to the West: 

There were speeches fair, and stories told, 

And much that was promised me; 
There were great sea-chests, and hidden gold ; — 

" Sail out," — they said, — " and see ! " 
9 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

I have sailed the reach of a trade-wind's hand, 

And left long wakes behind; 
I have battled out from a lee-shore land, 

And fought with a gale gone blind: 

I have dallied in harbors, and moored at quays, 
And jostled the world's worst men; 

I have followed the tide to the utmost seas, 
And I am come back again. 

There is treasure-trove in my hands, but gold 

I bring not back with me ; 
There are songs on deck and in the hold. 

But no wild minstrelsy. 

I have dreamed the dream of the unknown sea ; 

I have sailed from the sightless shore; 
I have looked in the eyes of reality, 

And I am young ... no more. 

lO 



The Vigil-at-arms ^ 

THOU that in the deepness of the night 

Beholdest me ; — 
Captain of Kings, invisible and dight 

With mystery : 
Thou that art death, and ridest on a sword; 
Thou that art love, upon a cross adored; 
Thou that art life, and life eternal, Lord, 

I kneel to thee. 

1 am as yonder taper on thy shrine, — 

Late-lit and tall; 
My spirit bows with every breath that thine 
Here letteth fall : — 

^ By kind permission of Scribner's Magazine. 
II 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

The flick'ring world is witched and turned and 

trolled ; 
And oh, my heart is wax, that once was bold; 
I perish straightway save that thou uphold ; — 
Thou that art all. 

It was but lately that a child I came 

First upon life; — 
Loving spring flowers, gentle, without blame, 

Knowing not strife: 
The world was old ere battles bloomed for 

me; 
Boyhood was dreams, and swooning minstrelsy; 
I wandered all alone and wandered free 

Where dreams are rife. 

But all at once the silver-crested surge 
Ceased to be cloud, 
12 



The Vigil-at-arms 

And thundered over me; I felt the scourge 

And sting, and bowed 
Under the brine, until, half-dead, I lay 
Forspent upon the sand; and from that day, 
Triumphant-tongued, the fury of the fray 
Calls me aloud. 

Let priestly pardoners still shrive the world, 

White and aloof; 
Mine be the battle-flame, the fear unfurled, — 

The storming hoof ; 
Let me be mingled with a maze of blows ; 
Hard pressed to live, heart mad, beset with foes. 
Or, lance in rest, ride down the lists' enclose 

To peril's proof. 

I would drink deeply. Lord, past joy and pain, 
Down to the lees; 
13 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

I would live life to every utmost vein ; 

Like sap in trees 
Let me know root and branch; let this be 

mine, 
To drain the world's whole heritage of wine ; — 
Co-parcener of pain with thee and thine. . . . 

I ask not ease. 

Yet . . . round my battered helm may dreams be 
born, 

And raptures spring, 
As I have seen fair clouds a craggy horn 

Engarlanding : 
Let dreams be wings and waft me from the 

ground ; — 
With sprigs of Arcady my brow be crowned. 
And where I lie, all battle-stained, be found 
The fairy ring. 
14 



The Vigil-at-arms 

Let me look back on boyhood and be fain 

Of childish cheer; 
Make after fight, like robins after rain, 

Glad thoughts appear : 
Remind me of the sweetness of the May; 
Pink apple-blooms with starlight on their spray ; — 
Exotic odors out of yesterday, — 

Let such be near. 

Let such be near, through all the storm and 
fret, — 

Near in the fight; 
The bitter wrong, the sorrow, the regret. 

Let these make right: 
For I no longer, Lord, take bribes of joy. 
Nor follow rainbows as did once a boy; — 
Give me my dreams and let the years destroy 

Other delight. 
15 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Give me the steps that unto Heaven's blue 

Steeply aspire; 
Lift me with song, and all my thoughts imbue 

With spirit fire : — 
Mine be the mould and measure of a man ; 
Let me be strong, O Lord, to build thy plan. 
But lest I fail ... let me be greater than 

My heart's desire. 

Like one that dwelling inland comes at last 

Upon the sea ; — 
Breathing strange breaths, and but a pebble-cast 

From mystery; 
So I upon a headland here do stand 
Fronting the whole of life, my forehead fanned 
With strong sea-wind, and out, far out, from 
land 

The future see. 
i6 



The Vigil-at-arms 

Lord, is ft cloud, or is it castle, there 

Beyond the brim? 
What heavenly towers. Lord, are those, so 
fair, 

So great and grim? — 
Are those the gates that glitter, as with gold ; 
In mother-of-pearl are those the bastions bold; 
And is it war, and do the warriors hold 

The ocean's rim? 

Nay, for the long horizon fills with rain, — 

Soft shadows creep, 
And blind oblivion falls upon the main, 

As of a sleep : 
I drink old voices, drear and out of kin; 
Half-uttered wails of prophecy begin ; — 
I hear of heroes dying, in the din 

Where dies the deep. 
17 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

I am afraid, Lord; is it thither thou 

Would'st have me go? 
I am afraid, and would wend backward now 

Where violets grow: 
My heart is fickle for the fields, I yearn 
Once more at eve to see my windows burn; — 
Once more, ah, let me, down old paths to turn, — 
I love them so! 



Nay ! — 't is the morrow, yonder leaded panes 

No more are dim 
With dark-browed infidels, but are the fanes 

Of seraphim; 
And holy saints and warriors are dight 
With jewelled colors flaming in their flight. 
And out of Heaven, wrapt in lovely light. 

The rafters swim. 
i8 



The VIgll-at-arms 

It is the morrow, Lord, the sweet airs blow 

Up the long nave, 
And plight the day's full troth, yet . . . ere I go, 

One thing I crave: 
Thou that art death, and ridest on a sword; 
Thou that art love, upon a cross adored; 
Thou that art life, and life eternal. Lord . . . 

Let me be brave! 



19 



Any Young Man 

Scene: A plainly furnished room in a city house. 
A young man pacing up and down, his hands 
clasped behind him. Distant sounds from 
the street below. 

The young man speaks. 

Read ? No ! dull print 's a traffic not for those 
Who merchant on high seas; I cannot read: 
I must embark; project some enterprise; 
Set sail; not swing at anchor for the tides 
To whim with. No ! my heart is turned a cage 
Wherein a thousand winged things look up, 
And cannot fly. My soul is sick with that 
It will not bring to birth ; — I cannot read. 
20 



Any Young Man 

He goes to the window, draws aside the curtain, 
and looks out. 

Now does the deep and weary world come forth ; 

And like uncitied ants, its folk do fare 

Most whither each most would. Men do not now 

Seek reason ; but with hounds of impulse ride 

Hot upon pleasure. They are not despised; 

They do but that which easy neighborness, 

Sure of its fellows, easily implies. 

They say of pleasure, not that it is base; 

No! rather that it is themselves; their life; 

The bough of nature budding to its fruit. 

"Hungry?" they say. "Then, surely, let us 

eat! 
If food, partake it. Poison does not grow 
On apple trees ! " They eat ; and why not I ? 
The nobler feed on abstinence? What then? 

21 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

That they may pleasure where I cannot go. 
The nobler? that have wealth, and friends; 

that dine 
Into a dulness fit for naught but sleep. 
Nobler? the nobler live to live; — so I! 

He drops the curtain roughly, and resumes his 
walking. 

Its own reward ? — virtue ? — rewarded how ? 
Will virtue wet the wrinkles from my tongue, 
Or fill my body with warm food? Shall I, 
Once virtuous, be quieted of this, — 
That I would live, and learn, and do . . . all 

things? 
I think not. 

Abstinence ! — say cowardice ! 
They that turn back have either less desire, 
22 



Any Young Man 

Or fear regards them more. Abstinence! 
These praters, with their " abstinence " ; these 

fools ! 
If Nature's false, then are her children liars. 
Thus they themselves are by themselves forsworn, 
And I should do whatever likes me most. 
I will! 

He goes to the door, takes down his coat, and 

begins to put it on. 
Pray? Wherefore pray? — that I may be 
Hindered from having the very thing I seek? 
Pray, that I lose the thing I most desire ? — 
That were a fool's resort. I will not pray. 

About to extinguish the lamp, a picture on the 

mantel halts him. 
Your ej'es! 

23 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

He takes the picture in his hands. 
Your eyes, your eyes ! 

He flings himself to his knees before the bed, the 
picture clasped in one hand, his face buried 
in the bed. 

Oh, God! 

The lamp burns low, and in the wall, over the 
bed, becomes visible a man in white armor. 
His visor is raised, but his face is in shadow. 
He leans on a sword, which gives forth a 
pale, flickering light. He speaks. 

Poor soul! 

Poor, ridden soul ! I know, 't is hard with thee : 

The strokes and buffetings forsake thee now; 

The bleeding yet goes on. Poor, ridden soul ! 

Thou thought'st thyself alone; knew not, as I, 
24 



Any Young Man 

What stricken acres of thy partisans 
Surrounded thee. Could'st thou have seen, as I, 
The writhe of battle knotted on the hills: 
Could'st thou, as I, have heard the storm of mail 
Break, as when icebergs bitterly engage, 
And take the poignant steel . . . Nay, thoii 

could'st not. 
Poor soul ! — thou thought'st thou wast alone. 

O years, 
Slow, human years; most sorrowfully slow! 
You are but sand wherewith to fill the sea; 
Each year one grain of sand dropped in the 

deep: 
But sand, O years. Oh, children, children, 

we! 
That in our fingers hold one, drifting life. 
And pour it forth, that we may feel it go. 
25 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Oh, children, we that have one pinch of sand, 
And squander it . . . because our comrades do! 



Life ; — 't is to lead our lives ; not let them 

go: 
Whose tenure is of nature turns unnatural so, 
For nature asks not kingdoms, but a king; 
And is a rebel but that kings may rise. 
Poor soul, here hanging to one, glimm'rlng star ! 
That fear'st to breathe, lest by a breath it be 
Obscured, thy one, sweet oriflamme of eyes; 
Think not, ah, think it not that sacrifice 
Can fade or wither ever; — not for aye: 
But jewelled it shall diadem thy days, 
And be eternal, thine. Think not that joy. 
Let flutter from thy hand, is lost ; but know 
That like a bird set singing in a sky, 
26 



Any Young Man 

Thy joy forever cometh back to thee, 
Forever flieth thine. 



The feet of day . 
Bring bitter pain upon the golden stars; 
But by the vintage of that treading, see! 
The whole, great East is radiant and glad! 
Now, like Prometheus tortured to a cliff, 
Dark vultures have investiture of thee ; 
But thou hast scaled high heav'n, and gathered 

down 
The fire from her most sainted battlements. 
Now dost thou bleed, poor soul, unloved, alone ; 
Yet thou hast gained a thing more fair than 

smiles, 
Sweeter than friends, more precious than all 

praise ; 

27 , . 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Dearer than dateless worship of men's eyes; 
The pith and pertinence of life . . . thyself. 

He remains in mute contemplation of the young 
m.an; then slowly fades from sight. The 
young man has not moved. He remains 
kneeling, his arms flung wide, his face buried 
in the bed, motionless. 



28 



The Fourth Window 

Scene: A square room, with a window in each 
of the four stone walls, looking to the four 
points of the compass. In the centre of the 
room, a large, rough-hewn, stone table and 
chair. A young man stands looking out of 
that window which opens towards the North. 
A person in white sits in the chair, at the 
table, watching the young man. The person 
speaks. 

What see you at the North? 

The young man does not reply i?nmediately, but 
stands, gazing, in silence. At length he 
speaks. 

29 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

I see the snow, 
And ever3rwhere the snow: meseems the sky 
Congeals with fear, and Earth is blanched white, 
Beholding it; I see the unguided flakes 
Hurry to hide, as from a rush of doom : 
They are the souls of unrequited loves. 
Who wander homeless up and down the world, 
And cannot die. I see the snow. 

The person: 

What more? 
The young man: 

I see . . . methinks it is a stone, drift-deep. 
And wearing a white crest ; like a lone wave 
Looming ashore. Its face is bare and gray; 
'T is older than the wind, and bleak with care. 

The person: 
Is 't all? 

30 



The Fourth Window 

The young man: 

I see a form, a miserable form; 
It is a woman, lying by the stone. 
She does not move . . . her hands are very white : 
Her hair is stiff with rime . . . she does not 
move. 

The person: 
Is 'tall? 

The young man: 

I see a babe, a little babe; 

The woman died for it. Its limbs and frame 

Were flushed and rosy once ... a little babe. 

The person: 

Is 'tall? 

31 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

The young man, turning suddenly, and vehe- 
mently, on him: 

Is 't all ? Great God ! and is it all ? 
Is 't not enough ? Thou and thy God . , . will 

He, 
Thy perfect one, thy Father of the World, — 
Will He permit of this, His children's woe? 
What world is this He fashioned for our pain ? 
What bounteous blessing of a Father there? — 
There by the stone? How had they injured 

Him, 
And were they born for this? Why born at 

all; 
Unless as children, to be loved? Is earth, 
Then, but a juggler's ball, with coins inside, 
Awhile that clink, and at the Magi's will. 
Are silent, to be heard no more ? Is 't all ? 
32 



The Fourth Window 

The person looks at the young man long and in- 
tently, and with great sadness, but not un- 
kindly; and at length replies. 
It is not all. I think the stars that shine, 
Each night, above this world, know more than 

we: 
They know it is not all; for as they go 
Into the measureless, moving on, meseems 
They march to some great victory afar; 
And looking down, are sorry for our pain, 
And would we went with them, to end it all. 

I think that He, first moulder of the plan 
Wherefrom we all derive, I think that He 
O'er turned them all, and took this one at last, 
Out of an agony of dreadful dreams; 
Took this, the noblest of them all, and knew 
That taking it. He nailed Him to the Cross. 
33 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

And they that lately died . . . there in the 

snow; 
I have a vision of an ageless game, 
Toughly fought out 'twixt deadly opponents, 
Hither and thither, over all the world: 
And ever and anon I glimpse a hand 
Reach through the gloom, and murky smoke of 

time, 
And take life forward, one square more, or else, — 
Yield up a pawn, as these, to gain much more. 



They died, in truth, not needlessly . . . for 

Him: 
They shall have joy of it, be sure, for aye. 
They lived because 'twas needful, and they died 
Even for life to triumph on their bones: 
And in their dying life was justified. 
34 



The Fourth Window 

Think not that He, the Father, lets them go 
Uncaringly, and blunted to their pain: 
Nay! like a river smitten with its reeds, 
He also takes of it, — the Crucified ! 

The young man gazes at him in silence, making 
no reply. At last he turns to the East win- 
dow and looks out. The per son j after a 
time of silence: 

What see you at the East ? 

The young man, without turning round: 

I see a plain. 
Well-nurtured, and infringing on the sea; 
And everywhere thereon are earnest men, 
Each plying some deep task. One seems to probe 
The flowers, delving for their rooted ways; 
Another plots the stars upon a globe: 
35 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Here are wheels turned, and groaning enterprise ; 
A vasty structure there, by tedious toil 
Stoutly upreared; and lo! where men embark 
On mighty ships, contemptuous of the wind! 
And some I see exploring of the deep 
As though their mothers bore them with red gills 
Instead of gasping mouths ; and some, like birds, 
Swim to the blue, not chained, like men of old, 
To mottled Mother Earth . . . and more . . . 
much more! 

The person: 

What think you of it all ? 

The young man, turning towards him: 

I dream that men 
Emancipate themselves, and even now 
36 



The Fourth Window 

Gnaw at the last, thin thread of fetich fear, 
That old idolatry! I dream that now 
No longer do men own divinity, — 
Look them no longer for a spill of death 
To follow blasphemy ... so named of fear; — 
But leap the widest cast of Christendom, 
As fearlessly as children plucking flowers: 
Nay, though they need no god, yet, since they 

hold 
A tenure of tradition, seek they still 
The feudal master of tradition's fee. 
Much have they found; have entered, wall by 

wall. 
Over the outworks: now the donjon keep 
Alone remains them to be won ; they'll find, 
I ween, an erstwhile-emptied throne ; — no 

more! 

37 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

The person, with scarcely-restrained anger: 
The widest cast of Christendom would hold 
Few such; its meshes are too great for them! 

Controlling himself: 

The spoils of centuries, the dint of time ; 

Yea, all the insect wisdom out of eld; 

They are but dust heaps whence the ants may 

spy 
Down on the earth, and see some inches more ; 
May drag their toil less was^wardly, perhaps; 
May thence espy an enemy unseen 
Save for this eminence; may hoard their spelt 
More cunningly henceforth for this, may go 
More fearlessly; bolster their lives more smooth; 
May learn to use their world, the worth of 

things, 

38 



The Fourth Window 

The vantages, the wisdom of fixed ways: 

They know not once who laid the roots of 

this. 
Nay! but the children find Him everywhere: 
The children meet Him smiling out of flowers, 
And pluck His footfalls with a wayside rose. 
He lives for such! . . . 

What see you at the South? 

The young man, turning languidly, replies 

eagerly : 
I see a glade, 'midst of a forest fair, 
And thither wends a goodly company, — 
Maidens and men with garlands and fresh 

flowers, 
Down through the grasses by the river's brink, — 
All young and laughing, two by two ; and go 
Through dimpling shadows: they are very fair. 
39 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

The maidens kiss the men; the men, the maids, 
And intertwine their fingers: and their hair 
Is as the forest shadows, brown on gold, — 
So closely do they heed each other's eyes. 
And in the glades they yield them all to love, 
And all are happy ... all save only I, — 
I in my youth, and orphaned of youth's joy. 
Oh, better far to love, as these, until 
Youth is burned out, and love can love no more, 
Than turn, face-frozen to the wall, as I ! 

The person, looking at him with great compas~ 
sion : 

There is a river, bending between meads, 
Its lovely marge all misty with first flowers; 
And many come to drink thereof, but all 
Who stoop to it, take fever to their veins; 
40 



The Fourth Window 

Sweet to the taste, but bitter to the heart . . , 
And only they who walk the perilous brink 
Unstoopingly, not cheated by its suage, 
Ever arrive upon that certain well, 
Deep in the wood and quaint with solitude, 
Wherein white pebbles gush forth crystal waves: 
But they that quaff that spring . . . drink 
paradise. 

After a space of silence: 
What see you at the West? 

The young man turns reluctantly away from 
the South window, and looks vacantly out 
towards the West. After an iiiterval, during 
which neither speaks, he replies: 

I see ... a room, 
Clad in complete darkness, save where one 
41 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

FuII-moted beam has broke the leaguer there, 
And lies . . . upon a bed. I see two hands, — 
White hands, as white as snow, and fair: they 

seem 
Laid lightly, as in sleep. They do not move, 
Nor clasp on dreams that slip from them, but 

lie 
Straight on the coverlet, and are as white. 



I see ... a face, asleep, and yet . . . not dead? 
Dear God! she dreams, or I ... it is a dream. 
And I shall wake . . . she would not die . . . 

not yet, 
With all the largess of her heart unspent: 
Dear God ! I 've seen the color in her face. 
As warm as summer and as pink as May, 
Fall back upon her heart for some rich thought, 
43 



The Fourth Window 

And leave her pale as winter, ere it came 
Mantling and mounting, like the rosy tide 
That turns at evening, vi^ith the v^rhite sails, 

home. 
She must not die ... I knew she could not 

die; 
She will awake; you'll see, she will awake. 



He turns from the window, covering his face with 

his hands J and continues: 
Her neck is soft and young; her hair falls down 
Just as in sleep : she is asleep ; her eyes 
And hair . . . just as in sleep ... it cannot 

be; 
She could not go . . . she was not yet made 

mine ; 
I have not kissed yet; come just where the gold 
43 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Refrains at last, and leaves the throat half 

bare . . . 
She has not gone . . . 

He slowly approaches the table, all the while 
wringing his hands: 

Say, can I surely know ? — 
She that is dead ; is that the end of her ? 
Is she no more than April violets; 
No more than summer? does she fade away 
Forever, like a pageant of the sky? 
Where has she gone ? — for I will follow her : 
Is life a breath on glass, a mist that goes . . . 
I know not where it goes ... is that, then, all ? 

The person, looking at him very sorrowfully, and 

gravely : 

It is not . . . all. 

44 



The Fourth Window 
The young man, eagerly: 

And shall I make her mine, 
Enfold her with two arms, and cling, and be 
Breathless with kisses; shall I come to her 
Out of the evening; hear her come ... to me, 
And see her eyes droop under maiden lids 
Too late for love to hide? — will this be mine? 
Speak to me . . . speak, ah, speak ! — will this 

be mine? 
Why answer'st not? Oh, speak! 

The person buries his face in his arms and falls 
to sobbing bitterly, so that his whole body is 
shaken with the violence of it. 

The young man seizes him roughly by the shoulder 
and, almost in agony, cries out to him: 

Speak ! 
45 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Slowly the sobbing becomes more fitful; its 
storminess passes away, and the person lifts 
his eyes, all full of tears, to those of the 
young man, and very tenderly, replies: 

I believe! 



Invocation 

Do but touch my lips 

As thou hast touched my heart ; 
And let my words from this day forth 

Bespeak thee as thou art. 

Else I am but dumb 

With looking in thine eyes; 
And all the lakes that lie therein 

Enhance my deep disguise. 

Always I do bear 

Most breathlessly with thee; 
The smallest tremble of thy mouth 

Makes memories for me, 
47 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Do but touch my lips, 

As thou hast touched my heart; 
And loose the strings that hold fast bound 

The loveliness thou art. 



48 



Dedication 

All that eyes have ever thought 
And have never spoken; 
All that hearts have ever wrought 
And have never broken; 
Thou art all, and unto thee 
Runneth my endeavor; 
If a time of love there be, 
Let mine be forever. 

Thou shalt give me, evermore, 
Guerdons of thy choosing; 

I will serve thee, and implore 
Nothing past refusing: 
49 ■ 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Not the wideness of the sea 

Heart from heart can sever; 

If a time of love there be, 
Let mine be forever! 



50 



Forever 

Forever and ever and ever; 

What should eternity be ? 
Infinite rest in a dying West? 

Give it me all with thee. 

Near to the westernmost islands, 

Golden in afterglow; 
Under their lee on an emerald sea, 

Let us make sail, and go.. 

There shall we find us the places 

Lost in the long ago; 
There shall we find all we divined. 

And never, on earth, could know. 
51 



Forever 

Forever and ever and ever; 

What should eternity be? 
Infinite rest in a dying West: 

Give it me all, with thee! 



52 



Tristan to Iseult, on the Sea 

Lady of Liege, a fair wind follows after, — 
A fair wind, to France; 

Under our prow sleek billows bubble laughter, 
And diamonds dance: 

Scarcely the mast betrays a tilt of motion 

'Twixt yon fleece cloud, and bosom-breathing 
ocean ; 

The soft sea air spells heavy eyes, a potion 
And a poppied trance. 

Spring is in England now; the broom and 
heather 

Will be fain to please; 
Spring is in England now; fields run together, 
And orchards are seas: 
53 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

You must clap hand to note our England 

smiling ; 
Blowzed country lads, and lasse;s them beguiling; 
And, all around, the blue-eyed sea enisling 
Our England of ease. 

Mark and his castle, eagle and his eyry. 

Are aloof on rocks 
Wraithed with sea mist, and lapped in sunsets 
fiery 

Where the ocean knocks: 
Mark, a stern man, but just and fair of dealing. 
Takes of his own cliffs ; blunt, ashamed of feeling. 
Yet, here and there, in sunny nooks revealing 

The flowers he mocks. 

Holds the wind fair, England is ours to-morrow, 
And our journey's end ; 
54 



Tristan to Iseult, on the Sea 

Would it were . . . well, there is always sorrow 

For new joy to mend: 
You will rejoice to hear the snuffed keel grating; 
There will be jousts, and village masques, and 

feting ; 
Mark, with his troopers, on the shingle waiting 
For his bride — and friend. 



I shall return, with speed, and spurs of glory, 
To that kingly realm, — 

Arthur's, the Table Round ; esteemed of story, — 
That like a broad elm 

Branches to doughty deeds and rugged making: 

Man must to horse, and ride; his earthly 
aching 

Else will ride him ; to horse, and battles breaking 

Through a slitted helm. 

55 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Life is not bloomed from boys' and girls' be- 
lieving ; 

There is more of pain; 
Were it a whole, in warp and woof one weav- 
ing! 

But the rifts remain. 
All the brave cities ever laid in leaguer, — 
All have been lost, when I, a boy too eager, 
Climbed; or were cloud-drift, without substance, 
meagre 

As the moon's white rain. 



Life ... to be happy . . . were it so, then dying 

Were indeed to die; 
Life's to be lived, and stoutly, not with sigh- 
ing .. . 

How the westward sky, 
56 



Tristan to Iseult, on the Sea 

Look! is a battlefield and lifting lances; 
Day will be dearly sold ere night advances; 
How that one star outrides them all, and prances 
White-plumed . . . were it I ! . . . 

Thou wilt be held like unto distant singing, 

An undying song 
Men will recall with breaths of April, bringing 

The violets along: 
Thou wilt be whispered by the waves forever, 
Out on sad shores, to those the tides dissever; 
Live and endure through all the world's endqavor, 

A strength for the strong. 

May it be thine ; the quiet starlight, sifting 
Through the leaves of life; 

May it be thine; the tender twilight, drifting 
Over day-long strife: 
57 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Be it to thee, thy gift, to hear unspoken, 

Things that a child, thy children, bring thee 

broken ; — 
Theirs to be healed of thee, a mother's token; 
Be it thine ... his wife. 

Will there be where, I wonder, in hereafter, 

The lost is regained? 
Now the wind dies, and with it dies the laughter ; 

The West is still stained. 
Pale, now, an ocean full of isles and dreaming, 
Deep, tranquil bays, and limpid shallows gleam- 
ing; 
Oh, to be there ! — to find it real, not seeming, 

And faith . . . unprofaned! 

Lady of liege, a soul is but a sorrow. 
It is best, I think. . . . 
58 



Tristan to .Iseult, on the Sea 

You will be his, and I shall ride ... to- 
morrow . . . 

Now, the first stars sink 
Into their sleeping; so must thou; yet . . . 

going, 
Ere thou art gone, give me thine eyes, for showing 
We were friends once ; friends the one wind was 
blowing, 

And so ... we did drink. . . . 



59 



Penelope 

I WONDER with what winds thou art, my own, 
Under what skies and cloudy drift of stars; 
Art thou at sea, I wonder, or at rest 
In some sweet haven ; dost thou lay thy head 
Contentedly on rough, beweathered boards, 
And art thou warm, my own, and dry? for rain 
Loves not the aged, and I fear for thee. 
Thou wilt be coming home no more. I knew, 
Always I knew, I was not widowed, when 
Troy was a long while falling, and my king 
Beleaguered her. But now, now thou art gone 
A great way farther: I have dreams at night 
That thou art sailing to the world's white end, 
Even to where the sea is sea no more; 
And in the mist I lose thee at the last. 
60 



Penelope 

Those early days ! — I mind me well when thou, 
Dark-ej^ed, a boy full of deep thoughts, 
Inveigled me of love ; we thought the world 
Could be contained, the whole of it, in our 
Young, tendril arms; when flowers dawned on 

us, 
We deemed they were our kisses, and white 

clouds. 
All deeply fragrant with the sunset, were 
The promises we plighted o'er and o'er. 
Rememberest, I wonder, how we found 
Twin shells upon the sand? I have them yet: 
We would be like them, never be but one, 
Even in death. A kiss made sure of it. 
Then came the scourge from Troy : — I saw thee 

go. 
A shine of arms, beyond the wind-blown sea. 
6i 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

My beauty, like the moon, filled more and more ; 
And like a flower looking to the sun, 
I held my heart to thee; and thou away. 
It pained that I was youthful not for long. 
And beautiful for none to fondle me, 
Or dote upon my softness, as the wind 
Creeps in from sea, over warm droves of flowers. 
I could not peak and pine, lest thou return. 
And find me faded . . . for I lived for thee: 
But others came, pretending to my hand, 
Sweet-spoken courtiers having honeyed lips 
And garmented with praises for my eyes. 
It pained that they should see my loveliness, 
And find me worshipful, when he, the one 
In all the world, my Lord, was blind of me. 

At last, at last ; — I mind me well the day : 
Thou wast a tempest scurrying dead leaves, 
62 



Penelope 

And afterwards, — an autumn of calm sky ; 
We were so happy with each other's eyes. 
But in the years I've seen it come for thee, 
The old, old longing, never far away; 
I 've watched thee, when thou knew it not, asleep. 
Or dull before the fire; and I've seen 
The sinews tighten to receive a blow, 
And e'en beheld thee half rise up, to meet 
Great captains coming to thy tent; or else . . . 
A rift of sunshine on a wan, gray sea, — 
Remembrance of a glorious day of fight. 
I knew that thou must go; thou art a man 
Moulded for more than me, — a man whose 

name 
Was pricked in stars before his birth, and now 
Men give Ulysses to their sons to guide. 
I knew that thou must go; thou art a man, 
63 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

And all the privilege of accident 

Is thine; thou art for deeds, blows, danger — 

death : 
It is thy state to sue such bright emprise, 
That in the dint o' it, either thou dost fail. 
And dash to earth; or . . . ride with perfect 

wings 
Right in the stormy current of a star! 
Thou art a man; I knew that thou must go. 

I am a woman; often I have lain 
All night, unsleeping, when the wind was out. 
And hearkened to the sorrows of old times 
Pleaded with tears that happened long ago; 
The loves of other women and the pain 
That love presumes ; and rising with the dawn, 
Have watched the surges whiten on the shore, 
64 



Penelope 

Ever and forever, wasting, vi^ithout end. 

I am a woman; half my life I live 

On with the seasons, half ... I do not know ; 

I seem to grope in ancient memories 

The years have blurred upon with blinding rain; 

I am a woman ; more I cannot tell. 

There will be no returning, yet I live 
That I may go with thee, where'er thou art, 
As I have ever gone, and lived, with thee. 
Thou canst not sail so far beyond the rim 
That I shall lose thee; always I shall be 
Pale light, like dawn, upon a troubled sea, 
And when the wind is soft, and south, 'tis I 
Shall breathe on thee, and wanton with thy hair; 
And in the darkness thou art not alone, — 
My heart shall come to thee; and every day, 
65 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Once in the morning, once at evening, I 
Will touch the sea that thou art sailing on, 
And tell it to be kind to thee. Farewell ! — 
Into the sunset go, with sails of cloud, 
A rose-leaf cloud; into the distance, till 
The twilight swallow thee. My King! 
farewell. 



66 



Liebestod 



LOVE AND DEATH 

Till death us part ; — I dreamed that death was 

now, 
Pallid and old, unsought and drawing nigh: 
I dreamed that death was now, and fled to thee 
For thy warm mouth and beating heart, but 

thou — 
Thou could 'st not stay him, he was come for me; 
I felt his fingers cold take mine to die; 
Till death us part ? — I dreamed that death was 

now. 

67 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Methought down wintry reaches of the dark 
That I was led, to be for ages borne 
On old, unhallowed seas, unlit with fire : — 
I dreamed, and waking, heard the cry, " Em- 
bark! " 
Heard still thy tears, felt still the torn desire. 
And wandered yet those wintry seas forlorn; 
My other soul, I lost thee in the dark! 



My other soul, made mine but yesterday, 
Made mine, engirdled in one zone with me; 
Held in my arms, till holding had possessed; 
Thine eyes my eyes, till eyes were kissed 

away ; 
Thy heart my heart that stifled in one breast: 
Mine, thou art all that being mine could be. 
Yet art not mine, for I am death's, to-day. 
68 



Liebestod 

I dreamed : — 'twas but a dream that went and 

came ; 
Slipt moonshine between clouds ; and yet, — 
Be thou the proof of that ; my fingers -^ there — 
I am not dead, then; follows still the flame 
After me, where I brush your forehead bare: 
I am not dead; your heart does not forget, 
Your lips still know, your eyes droop down the 

same: 



A thousand kisses were no surfeiting; 
I am not dead. But if the dream came true. 
And I bereft thee at the last? Oh, then. 
When lovers kissed, thus, 'twere a foolish thing. 
And love, no more than idle summers, when 
Flowers are blown, and breezes chance them 
through, 

69 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

And take their hearts, and leave them — lan- 
guishing. 

I might bear out such severance from thee 
As years would eke the other's life on earth; 
I might endure to wander sterile days 
Without thee, so the end of it should be 
Thyself: to hear thee from along deep ways, 
And see thee coming, like a star, to birth, 
Over sad marches, to eternity. 

But, like twain candles, gutter life away. 
And flicker down to nothingness ? • — ah, no ! — 
If that be love, then I will love no more; 
I will not stoop to it, I will not stay 
One further moment kneeling at thy door ; 
If that be love, I '11 to a desert go. 
And weather out the future, loveless; nay, 
70 



Liebestod 

I would not even live, if that were all! 

And still I hold thee, here, and still thou art 

Continuous, like music, loving me. 

But if no death, yet, when our fingers fall 

At last from one another's, then shall we, 

Man without strength, and woman without 

heart, 
Love as of old ? — can spirits love at all ? 



From what wraith-mist of nebulous disguise 
Wilt thou unveil thyself; or, being known, 
What moon-white love can give us what we 

knew? 
For I shall have no arms in Paradise, 
Nor thou, such lips to bring deep kisses to ; 
And all the pangs our hearts have overflown, — 
How shall we speak, no longer having eyes? 
71 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Forever sailing, here we find not, here 

Are only haze and last horizon line ; 

Here only stars that dream around the world, 

That droop, and dim, and draw not ever near ; 

Here only stars, and cloudy sails unfurled; 

No landward lights, ours only, mine and thine ; 

No hoped for hills and pleasant islands here. 

And yet — I would sail on so, having thee ; 
I would sail on, unnoticed and unknown, 
Our soft affreightment slighted of the years, 
Our mortal life made immortality; 
I would sail on so, even with my tears; 
Forever breathe thy loveliness, my own, 
And ever, waking, wind thee nearer me. 

The looms of Time weave on, weave on, — and 
will; 

72 



Liebestod 

The dial-shadow moves unmindful of 
The lovers leaning on its travels so : 
I know that somewhere destinies fulfil, 
And howsoe'er I lose thee now, I know 
That I shall find thee, yet — O God of love, 
Let us, let us, be man and woman still! 



73 



II 

LOVE WITHOUT DEATH 

A crimson emptiness I've proved the rose, 
That in its budding promised me divine; 
The star that from the sunset's pallor blows, 
Sinks in the sunset's half-drained lees of wine: 
Deceitful was the happiness that drew 
My hunger to the Islands of the Blest; 
I was not happy though I came thereto, — 
Pity was mine, and shame, and great unrest : 
I heard the sirens singing overseas, 
And caught wept beauties from the Lotus shore; 
I touched the blue-encircled, far Hesperides ; — 
All, all were mine ; I wish them mine no more. 

I have no pleasure in their pleasing, none ; 

I only live that I may live for — one. 
74 



Liebestod 

I see thee stand, beyond the death of dreams, 
Above the drift of flower-fading years ; 
Thou wilt not ride the downward-running streams 
To blue oblivion ; thy tender tears 
Have lifted thee too far for Time's hard hand, 
The love that thou hast given gives thee now 
Forgetf ulness of fear : I see thee stand 
Like some clear peak, the sunset in thy brow; 
Immutable of heart, and gazing where shall shine 
A thousand stars of holiness ; where soon 
Thou shall put on a whiteness more divine, — 
Withal, thy whiteness, underneath the moon. 
Thou art so true, thou art thyself, and I, 
I shall have thee when all the others die. 

I shall have thee; — I know not in what land, 
Past what imperial outposts never seen. 
Beneath what tow'rs too bright to understand ; 

75 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

I know not, save as sometimes I have been 
Hard at their boundaries, looking, not M^ith eyes, 
Over broad seas, and twilight hills, or through 
Wind-mingled boughs far upward into skies; 
Save as I've heard strong voices that I knew, 
Struggle to be, from under storms in trees. 
And out of smothered speech that silence gave ; 
I know not in what land, beyond what seas 
I know not, save that I shall have thee, save 
That at the last no loss can ever be, — 
Thou wilt reach down, and I shall come to 
thee. 

For we were always wedded, I and thou, — 
In far, forgotten climes, beyond old seas; 
Methinks dim ages gone remember how 
I followed thee, gave worship, sought to please : 
Thou wast a star that dreamed all night, and I 
76 



Liebestod 

The dew-drop of thy dream; I saw thy face 
Laugh from my eldest summer, full of sky 
And little petals flutt'ring to embrace; 
I heard thy voice before my mother spoke, 
Or ever words had bodies; knew thy hand 
Before the stars brought bigness to an oak, 
Or rain gave gladness to a thirsty land. 

I needed not to learn thee, for I knew ; — 
Dreamed, and awoke, and found my dream- 
ing true. 

And more than dreams, and half-remembered 

days ; 
Higher than clouds of sunset-tinctured hue: 
Deeper than seas, and all sea-hidden ways, — 
My thoughts fly out, my love comes back, to 

you. 
Then, like the ripples on sky-sweetened lakes, 
77 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

That lap forever on a shadowed shore, 
My heart in music out of prison breaks 
Into the wideness of the world before: 
Into the wideness, where the unbreathed night 
Sleeps at the lids of never-dying day; 
Into the wideness, and the trance-held light, 
My 'prisoned heart in music slips away. 

I drink thee with the stars, and fain would be 
Where I may take eternal fill of thee. 

Not man, of woman, more ; but soul, of soul ; 
In such white tenderness as wind-strewn May 
Affords first lovers, wondering that stroll 
Twin-sainted paradise ; in such sweet way 
As rivers take of clouds when ripe with rain, 
Or hands of little children touch young flow'rs, 
Not plucking them, resentful of their pain; 
Soul of my soul, such taking shall be ours: 
78 



Liebestod 

But more than voices molten into song, 
Closer than streams commingled in the sea, 
Life unto life shall each to each belong, 
And love be love's beyond eternity; - 

And love be love's, — not words, nor lips, 
nor eyes, 

But only love, can speak love's paradise. 



79 



Seaward 

The little boats, the little boats, 

Go sailing out to sea; 
With courage manned they leave the land, 

And steer them steadfastly: 
The sun turns gold, and on they hold, 

A-sailing out to sea; 
And I should like, and I should like, 

To sail with them to thee. 



The little birds, the little birds, 
Go flying out to sea; 

At some far call relinquish all. 
And go intrepidly: 
80 



Seaward 

The sun's last red is in their stead, 
And still they fly to sea; 

And I should like, and I should like, 
To fly with them to thee. 

The little stars, the little stars. 

Come out upon the sea; 
Each candle light is lit to-night 

With loving memory: 
The day is done and one by one 

They hover on the sea; 
And I should like, and I should like. 

To look with them on thee. 



8i 



Even-Song 

The night and the day have met on the road, 

Travellers faring afar ; 
Have met and kissed and gone on their way, - 

Their kiss is the evening star. 

The night and the day have met on the road, 

Wayfarers passing by; 
The day has blushed at the glance of the night, - 

Her blush is the evening sky. 

The night and the day have met on the road, 
Longing to linger - there ; 

Have looked and sighed and said farewell, — 
Their sigh is the evening air. 
82 



Even-Song 

The night and the day have met on the road, 
Tremulous, O my Sweet; 

And all the twilight is fainting with prayer 
That thou and I should meet! 



83 



Sanctuary 

The shadow of a sail upon the sea; 

The shadow of a cloud upon the sand ; 
I lie remembering of thee, 

In a thirsty land. 

Take me from the weariness of days 

To where thou art, in fadeless beauty set; 

Fold me from the sun's fierce blaze 
With thy wings, dew-wet. 

Be mine the utter wakefulness of night. 
To lose no single graciousness of thee ; 

Reach thou cool fingers of delight 
To my brow, the sea. 
84 



Sanctuary 

Let me be the rippling refrain 

Which followeth the music that thou art: 
Wind me with a silver skein 

To thy beating heart. 

The starlight that is lost among the trees; 

The moonlight that is wasted on the land ; 
Thy love, which Heaven only sees, 

Be mine — near at hand ! 



85 



In April 

If there's wind upon the meadow, there is sun- 
light in the trees, 
There is glowing, golden sunlight, and desire; 
If there's storm on stream and river, there are 
songs and melodies. 
There are songs that follow shepherds, and the 
lyre. 

Up around the walls and hedges, down the road- 
sides and the lanes, 
There is strewing of first flowers, and delight; 
There are evenings, long and shadowed, there 
are homeward-wending wains, 
There are robins giving gladness, and good- 
night, 

86 



In April 

If there's winter on our faces, there is summer 
in our hearts, 
There is laughing, leaping summer in our 
eyes ; 
And although as young as April, we are older 
than all arts, 
We are wiser than all wisdoms of the wise. 

We have risen up from winter and are waiting 

with the spring, 

We are breathless for the summer and await; 

Far away on distant mountains we have heard 

her heralding, 

We are breathless for the summer, and a mate. 

If there's wind upon the meadow, there is sun- 
light in the trees, 
87 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

There is golden, glowing sunlight, and desire; 
If there's storm on stream and river, there are 
songs and melodies, 
There are songs that follow shepherds, and the 
lyre. 



88 



Fragment Written in a Time 
of Drought 

Oh, give my weary eyes the flush of dawn, 

That flames to reach the one last star withdrawn 

Beyond its touch ! Let moonbeams weave for me 

A silver scarf about the bosomed sea, 

And sunlight fleck and falter through the leaves 

Of forests cool and tall, till Night achieves 

Her way. Or let me lie my length, and gaze 

Upon a goodly pastureland, where graze 

Soft-moving sheep, and clouds in fleecy dress 

Career the gentle sky, and with caress 

Of shadow smooth the care from blunt-browed 

hills, 
While lavish green a grateful peace instils. 
89 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Oh, give my longing ears the voice of spring, 
The song of birds, the cheerful cries that ring 
From marsh and meadow, hedge and leafy spray, 
And all the sounds that charm the longer day: 
Let billows broach rich thunder on the shore, 
And burly breezes through the branches roar; 
Or let me list to soft, enthralling airs, 
Played broodingly by one who knows, and 

cares. 
Oh, let me breathe the breath of salty seas. 
And snuff the vigor of a thousand trees 
Distilled by sudden rain. 



90 



Border Things 

The owl-moon sits in a gnarled old tree; 
An elf bird sings in an elfin key; 
And miles of marshes meet miles of sea, 
And set me free, and set me free. 

October woods with leaves of long ago; 
October hills in haze and golden glow; 
The wistfulness of winds and brooks run low, 
That I may know, that I may know. . . 

Light limbs of children, far sounds of glee; 
Stars above breakers, sunsets at sea; 
Twilight and wood-light and faery, 
And I am free, and I am free. 
91 



To the Absolute 

O WIND of death that blowest in the night, 

That blowest, and art still; 
O icy hand that comest with thy rite 
Of cruel terror, just before the light, — 

The darkest hour of ill ; 
O breath of fate that whisperest away 
The loves of years, the friendings of to-day- 
Have ye not yet your fill ? 

So must it be forever, even so? — 
The ebbing tide of change 
Draws out to lost horizons all we know, 
All we have loved and clung to, long ago, 
Leaving us . . . something strange: 
92 



To the Absolute 

The dear, familiar lights die out at last; 
The late, lost voices fading down the blast, — 
They too . . . pass out of range. 

O hidden life, O life, O unattained! 

Not only in our dreams, 
But given inwardly, and unexplained, 
Through every word and memory ingrained, - 

Deep as undryihg streams : 
Thou comest out of other realms than sight ; 
There is naught earthly in the glamor light 

Which on thy vesture gleams. 

There is naught earthly, yet thou comest here 

Askance, and half-astray ; 
As wayside lights, that suddenly draw near 
To railroad wand'rers, blaze, and disappear, — 

So thou art torn away: 
93 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

But ever, on the darkened window glass, 
Our weary world goes with us, and alas ! — 
Thou art a dream, alway. 

Thou art a dream, a somewhere out beyond 

The sunset and the sea; 
Thou art just failed of by the fingers fond 
Of silver moons ; thy magic shores respond 

Only to melody; 
Only to waves that fling their hearts to die 
Far out where souls are sailors, and the sky 

Is breaking over thee. 

Thou art a dream, that moves not in the mind; 

Thou art not thought, nor seen 
With lidded eyes ; thou f eedest not the blind 
Of mortal vision, — rapturous, undefined. 

Eternally serene! 
94 



To the Absolute 

Thy beauty waits no falt'ring, feeble hand ; 
We part the petals, nor do understand 
That thou should'st slip between. 

But sometimes ... as on country roads we hear 
Wind-murmured wires hum ; 

Thy breath makes music to an awestruck ear, — 

Wild music of wild airs, of bliss and fear, 
And hearts to heaven come — 

Thy whisper wakes what only slept before; 

Our silent souls are silent now no more — 
We speak, who once were dumb. 

But man is man, and may not lift too far 

His earthly, frail reply; 
Man is but man; in pattern like a star, 
His utmost efforts in this twilight are 

A fitful firefly; 

95 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

He may not . . . ah ! — to know, and yet to fail ! 
His hands may tremble to, not touch, the Grail 
That hovers from on high. 

The whirlwind passes, lust and shame and sin, 

And anger passion-blind; 
Remorse burns out, a flame, a deadly djinn; 
And seven devils wait to welter in 

The smitten, tortured mind: 
And after these, a voice exceeding small. 
Lovelier than lutes, or waves, or waterfall 

Leaving green woods behind. 

There comes a voice, but lingers not for long; 

A sighing in the trees. 
It also passes, and the shadows throng 
Once more ; once more old fears grow strong, 

And ancient fantasies: 
96 



To the Absolute 

In doubt and darkness, baffled and misled, 
We walk the world, and hear, far out ahead, 
The thunder of veiled seas. 

Oh, at the last, when shattered, blow by blow, 
Must man die out like flame? 

Nay ! — but methinks I see him, bent and low, 

Set free by failure, lift his head and go 
By where the sunlight came: 

Methinks I see him where his dreams were gone ; 

And lo ! — a wonder in his eyes, and on 

His lips . . . the wonder's name! 



97 



Israel 

" And there wrestled a man with him until the 
breaking of the day." 

And wherefore I ; and wherefore these lit stars ? 
And whence, and how, and whose? 

First I besought 
The wise, who creep down stairways of the dead, 
And cling, like bats, in crannied nooks of eld ; 
Who, from their nested books, hatch wingless 

broods, — 
Birds without feathers, in the dark; the wise, 
Who dream with towers to abash the stars, 
And shame the moon with glintings of a shield; 
I asked them this. They gave me a " first cause " ; 
And when I asked the showing of this " cause," 
98 



Israel 

Alas, they also sought it, had it not. 

And bade me dig with them. I found but moxild. 

I did not find thee in the market, where 
Traffic and trade and tribes go murmuring; 
Where men buy fretted ivory, and gold 
Looped into labyrinths, and gems which are 
The tears wept by a rainbow; idols, too, 
And slaves; ripe fruits, and sweating merchan- 
dise — 
I did not find thee there. Nor in the gloom 
Of temples dark with sacrifice, where men 
Spill blood and worship gods; where fires burn 
Iniquitous with incense, and in vain. 

I have sought happiness in all the world : 
First I sought happiness as swallows fly, — 
99 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Skimming and skirmishing, away and here; 
Unaiming, almost ; half intending, — gone. 
Then I sought happiness as minnows leap, 
Right into sunshine, and fall back again ; 
Unlearned of a failure, not deterred — 
Seeing the sun aswim, and lusting it. 
Now I seek happiness as one who knows 
That seeking finds it not; yet seeketh still. 



There is no mind in me, but all is blood; 

I flow not like a river straight and sure, 

But am the sea, the open, aimless sea ; 

I tide me by the moon, and bear away 

With moonbeams; there is storm and calm in 

me; 
I drink the stars, and lie too deep for day. 
The building of my destiny is here, 

lOO 



Israel 

Here in my heart, here in my beating blood ; 
Not withered into codes by some dull brain, 
But gendered out of leaping arteries, 
And sung in strophes of impetuousness. 
Whereof the singing bears all thought away. 

Oh, tree that is my heart, oh, fruitless tree ! 
That hears and sighs, and bringeth not to birth; 
Oh, tree of dreams and bootless imageries; 
Lurer of butterflies and birds, that stirs 
With every leastest wind, and wakes, and goes 
Hither and thither, and comes back again; 
That looketh up so high, and lies so low ; 
Oh, fruitless tree! 

I have had hopes, dim hopes, 
As of horizons buried in the West 
By dappled oceans fading far away; 

lOI 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Hopes that the sun leaves with its languid gold, 
When clouds are islands, and the sky, a sea 
Beset with shoaling tides ; high hopes that hang, 
Star-poised, upon the pinions of a bird 
Looking and seeing over unknown lands. 
And praising them ; hopes that the moon conceals 
Behind her shadowings, when all the world 
Takes deep allegiance in mysteriousness ; 
Hopes that the flowers hide and bees bring forth ; 
The hopes of summer mornings half awake, — 
Of furrowed hills, straight trees, and silences; 
Dumb, prisoned hopes, ice-held in brooks, and 

loosed 
Turbid with spring; hopes of the eyes and 

heart, — 
Young hearts in love with eyes — hopes in them 

all. 

102 



Israel 

I was a child a-tip-toe for the moon, 
A seeker-out of sunbeam motes; a child 
That hunted rainbows and opined the gold 
Pent in their roots ; that hollowed out a hand 
And fished for raindrops, hoping he should find 
Sweet pearls therein from stars; took bees for 

elves, 
And hid heart wishes in a flower's foot ; — 
A child. 

But these high stars . . . 

Who art thou, then, 
That I may find thee? 

I have walked the world; 
Wherever men have spoken I have been : 
I have ta'en sail on all the eastern seas, 
And proved their isles and archipelagoes; 
I have cast anchor in a hundred bays, 

103 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

And mounted rivers bearing wealth to kings, - 

Imperial purple past imperial shores; 

Gold from the East, and Western merchandise. 

I have seen cities M^ith the vv^alls of God, 

Hung out of heav'n, huge battlements that stood 

Like everlasting hills, — too old to die ; 

And cloudy towers woven like a dream 

That endeth out of mind. I saw not thee. 



Why do I seek thee thus, and wherefore flows 
Pain from pure joy, from loveliness, desire? 
I thirst, and quaffing, thirst a fever more ; 
My eyes are inroads of unquietness ; 
The songs of birds proclaim me some great loss 
That longing yet might save, and saveth not. 
Oh, I have seen the shadows of men's souls 
Troop o'er my heart, and flung the casement wide, 
104 



Israel 

Hoping to tarry them, and failed it, — for a 

word. 
If thou art sending, send no more, or else 
Make me a flower for a single day, 
That owneth happiness one undiluted day; — 
Let me be rain and fall one perfect flight 
To a forgetful sea; give me to know 
One utmost poignancy of love, and die! 
Take back my pain ; if thou hast sent, — unless, — 
Unless thyself . . . thou art . . . unless thou 

art . . . 



Thou . . . art . . . my hunger and uncer- 
titude ; 

Thou art . . . my pain, and my so great de- 
sire! 

Thou art the sadness of too perfect flowers, 
105 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

The wistfulness of evenings all of stars; 
Thou art the pity of the sunrise, thou, 
The wonder of all beauty, and the woe. 

And I have seen thee — fading down lost seas 
With foam of exiled ships at evening, or 
Fast held in hills with woody breaths of flowers ; 
Seen thee in maidens mysterful, with eyes 
Half oped in heav'n ; and I have heard thee when 
Thou art a child close-counselling a bird. 
Or giving souls away with sighs — in songs. 
All intertwined with tears — thy voice — 
Thy face — Oh, thou art everywhere ! 

Thou . . . Thou . . . 



io6 



Galatea 

My former loves have stiffened into stone, 
And in the darkness call me not by name; 
They line the garden where I lately came, 
Their tresses in the twilight were unblown. 

I think that all their loveliness is fled 
From them to thee, thou art so very fair ; 
Thou art as perfect as a child's first prayer, 
Fallen asleep before the half was said. 

Thou art the closing of a flower's eyes 
At nightfall, lest the gloaming sadden thee; 
Thou art too precious for the dark to see, 
Too fragile for the evening sacrifice. 
107 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Thou art ail overbreathed with breathless things 
Hushed winds have given thee, and hearts ex- 
haled, 
Old fragrance of old loves, that burned and paled. 
Or left their beauty in the arms of kings: 

I think thou art a song that blew so high, 
The gods took love of it, and altered thee, 
Since music dies, to immortality; 
Thy parted lips just frozen on a sigh. 

It seems thou art asleep, who dost not drain 
One drop of madness from the lips of Spring; 
Thy beauty wears no flushed remembering 
Of eyes that see thy loveliness too plain. 

Thy beauty . . . is as wistful winds that fall 
Out of the evening, over moon-white seas, — 
1 08 



- Galatea 

In murmurous, deep vistas of dark trees; 

I faint with it, yet . . . beauty is not all. . . . 

Skies that have lost their light, my loves are flown ; 
Dead, dead they are, with dreams that were 

untrue. 
Cold clouds, once tremulous, and warm, and 

new, 
And in the darkness there is thou alone. 

Oh, if it be that thou art nothing more, 
But only beauty, frozen and divine . . . 
I'll count my life no better than spilt wine. 
Tossed from a cup upon the tavern floor. 



109 



The Garden of Sleep 

Beneath the sunlight and the wide, sweet skies, 

Immersed in purple shade, 
The garden of the well-beloved lies, 
And looses to the world through half-shut eyes 

Dreamings too deep to fade. 

Adown the sloping verdures of its breast, 

In long, unordered row. 
Are laid alike the lately-bidden guest 
And they that herein entered into rest 

A hundred years ago. 

And all alike perpetually share, 

Past understanding, peace; - 
no 



The Garden of Sleep 

On all is shed the tranquilizing air 
Of easeful earth, and silence everywhere 
Has everlasting lease. 

They are securest, they that slumber here, 

And know no troubled sleep; 
Unvisited are they of fret or fear, 
Nor earthly perilings to them draw near 
Whom all the heavens keep. 

No passionate persuadings rim them round, 

With afterword of woe; 
No stir is here, no restless songs resound, — 
Save of the birds, and leaves that on the ground 

The changing seasons sow. 

They are unsorrowful, — Time's hurried feet 
No longer fashion pain ; 
III 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

For in the years' inevitable beat, 
The loved and parted here once more may meet, 
And meeting, here remain. 

We call them dead, and weep that they must die: 

Ah, tenderness and tears! 
That lips on lips unanswered must lie. 
And warm entreaty fall without reply 

On once so heedful ears. 

We call them dead, that on the breast of sleep 

Beyond our borders go ; 
Yet know we not what hovers in the deep, 
Dark-furrowed lineaments of Death, and weep 

Because we do not know. 

But I have seen the sunlight from the West 
Wane with the tide away, 
112 



The -Garden of Sleep 

And watched the heavens, rosily distressed, 
Grow pale, and shed those tears of stars that rest 
Upon the fringe of Day: 

And I have trod the thunder-throated strand 

Of bright, perplexing seas; 
Looked into Summer's eyes and Autumn's hand, 
And heard a lover in his lover's land 

Of immortalities. 

These silent lips and unillumined eyes. 

All-eloquent of death. 
They too have learned of love, and waxed wise 
In that rare wisdom lingering in skies, 

Or in a flower's breath: 

They too have felt unutterable things, ^ ' 
The sweet, half-prisoned flow 
113 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Of high infinities ; the poise of wings 
On ecstasies of song no poet sings ; — 
More bliss than lovers know. 

And here they He, tl;ie well-beloved, here, 

With cypress and with yew; 
They dreamed as I, and this, their sleep austere, 
Is but a severing, a soul got clear. 

And they . . . their dreams are true. 



114 



The Glory that was Greece 

Dodona's leaves no longer are divine, 
Nor poets frenzied at Apollo's hand; 
i^^gean airs bear in no more to land 
The gold of Delos, and the Lesbian v^^ine: 
Her storied temples feed the clinging vine, 
Which Orpheus-like their dying would with- 
stand, 
Or strew, like some lost argosy, the sand ; 
Hellas is dead, long dead, and all her line. 

Exotic marbles harried over seas, — 
Strange-voiced as shells far inland from their 
shore, 

115 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Remain some scions of Praxiteles, — 
Deific children such as Phidias bore ; 
But . . . songs are silent in Dodona's trees ; 
^gean airs bring in the gold no more. 



ii6 



To Edgar Allan Poe 

PoE^ by the breath that stirred Apollo's trees, 

And frenzied poets to prophetic ire, 

Why didst thou go, so lightly, with thy lyre; 

When thou couldst weep such melting har- 
monies ? 

Why didst hie on beyond th' Hesperides, 

And leave thy Hellas so forlorn of fire? 

What heavenly song, star-stooping from the 
Choir, 

Dissuaded thee . . . sailing the wine-dark seas ? 



Mayhap did Dian craze thee with a kiss. 
That sang in thee e'er after, as a shell 
117 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Sings of its seas; mayhap that swooning bliss 
Discomforted all other ; — I know well 
Some voice allured thee to that world from this, 
And there thou singest now . . . with Israfel. 



ii8 



After a Visit to a Far Country 

I DREAMED. A Swinging ocean, and a shore 
Whose rocks were murmurous, bright-hued, and 

steep ; 
Islands that were a necklace looped in sleep ; 
Hills that outlived the stars, and vales that 

wore 
Green garlands, were around me more and 

more : — 
Then might I move down into forests deep. 
Where sunless flowers did their quiescence keep 
Unstirred and dreaming on a moss-grown floor ; 
Thence ways were mine, magnificent and slow, " 
Steep-searching stairways to the clouds, it seemed. 
But ah, no longer! . . . faded long ago 
119 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

The last great sunset from those hills that 

streamed ; 
Long since the valleys melted out like snow; 
The forests died; all, all are gone: I dreamed. 



120 



To a Nereid 

Of oceans blue and dancing sunlights born, 
Fond-cherished child of mistiness and foam, 
Dim waters wreathing build thy changeful 

home, 
And starred horizons gird thy nights forlorn: 
Oft has the turbulence of Triton's horn 
Dispersed thy slumbers; oft where smoothly 

comb 
The dark-browed seas, great Neptune in the 

gloam. 
Glimpsing thy hair, has challenged thee for morn. 

I cannot keep thee longer, thou who art 
By breathing billows yearned for and sighed; 
121 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

To distant joys all fortunate depart; 
Yet . . . may thy wanderings be not too wide, 
Nor flutter thee too far thy wayward heart, 
And for thy coming leave me hopeful-eyed. 



122 



In an Anthology 

This is the world, and in these pages lie 

Our little lives a-written long ago; 

Here is the all that ever we shall know 

Of life and hearts, of earth and sea and sky; 

Here are sweet words for every passer-by, — 

Most precious words from lovers' lips that 

flow; 
Sighs here, and pain, and wistful afterglow, — 
Even of flowers pressed ere they die. 



Most gentle reader, take, then, to thy fill, 
From these conserved blossoms honeyed toll; — 
Out of their sweetness living sweets distil, 
123 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

And these high hearts . . . engrave them on 

thy soul! 
Ah, give them resurrection, and they will 
Bear up thy wings and lift thee to their goal. 



124 



After Seeing Lake Maggiore for 
the First Time 

Blue-damasked maid, I saw thee in thy sleep, 
Where Time had left thee, loved asleep, to lie 
Drawn round with dreams, dear daughter of the 

sky; 
I saw thy soft-blown hair with shadows deep 
Empurple thy pale face, and drift, and weep 
Down from the hills that thou didst deify; ^ 
I saw thee, Maggiore, dreaming, not to die; 
Left in thy love still youthful, and asleep. 



So let me leave my youth, unmoved as she; 
So let me leave them lying, not grown old, 
125 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Forever fair, the days that dreamed with me ; 
Gentle as Maggiore, beautiful to hold; 
So let it lie, the thing I cease to be ; 
So let it He, and sleep . . . my age of gold. 



126 



In Memoriam J. B. A. 

The wind has murmured in the trees once more, 
And dying, uttered one more life away; 
The star of death has lit once more a day; 
One other wave is spent upon the shore: 
Oh, life-lined face, the well-beloved wore! 
Oh, kindest eyes, that look from yesterday! 
A gentleman! . . . 'tis so his children pay 
Most perfect tribute past the closing door. 

The wind has murmured, and the woods are still ; 
Along the lake the last live ripples go; 
A life has spoken, and our hearts fulfil 
His echoes, whom we knew, and loved to know. 
High are the peaks of mortal mind, and chill ; 
This man was sunlight — on eternal snow. 
127 



New York 

Whither are ye bent, 
Who are a multitude, and come and go. 

With fevered intent, 
Through all the city's weary row on row ; 

Wherefore leave behind 
The open country and the quiet mind, 
To thread the currents of this river's rind 

So sorely besprent? 

City by the sea, 
Lapped in thy mantle, with thy head bent low, 

And thy face not free; 
That art inscrutable, as with some woe, 

And yet would be found 
128 



. New York 

And followed, like a far-off sound 
That seems to call, and dies along the ground 
What would'st thou with me? 

City by the sea. 
Brooded and builded on a nest of ships; 

Alike are of thee 
Streets full of heresies and hucksters' lips, 

And the wider ways 
That in the midst of thee do bloom and blaze 
City that art already old in praise, 

What wilt thou with me? 

O my heart, I turn. 
With utter weariness and closing eyes; 

O my heart, I yearn 
Unto a land of dreams, and of surmise, — 

Regions lying low, 
129 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Beyond the margin's utmost bend of bow, 
Lost in the sunset, ages long ago, 

And dear to discern . . . 



How closely it clings, 
Inseparable of thee, thy cloak of care; 

How near are the wings, — 
Or wraiths of wings, — the hopes that perished 
there ! 

Children all aglow, 
Lovely with life ; — who let their fingers go ? 
In what dark scripture of our weal and woe 

Are hidden these things? 

What matters one more? 
Millions they brush me by, and millions are 
Shadows at thy door; 
130 



- New York 

It irks that over thee should pause my star, 

Not out, as in dreams. 
Aloft some mountain lake unswept by streams; 
Thy murk of highways mirrors back no gleams, 

Unrestful thy floor. 

'Tis not thou, but I . . . 
As out of a long sleep who wakes at last. 

And lets his dreams die; 
Who dimly knows his perils overpast. 

And slowly regains 
His own good world; and flinging wide the 

panes. 
Bares a brisk morn, of glinting weather-vanes 

And fresh fields; — so I . . . 

Rift the clouds for me. 
And over thee a golden glory falls; 
131 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

And winds from the sea 
Are sweet with sunlight fingering dull walls 

In thy deepest ways ; — 
Around thy towers an enchantment strays, 
And drifts of steam are upward breaths of praise 

For the gift of thee. 

Thou art all confessed; 
Beautiful thou art, and flushed with life, and fair ; 

Youth is down thy breast, 
And worship in thy shoulders and thy hair: 

Thy voice Is of seas 
That speak, and fall away ; " Our destinies 
Are with each other ; not with stars and trees 

And a dying West ! 

" With each other now : 
To unperplex a fate from stars ; — no more ; 
132 



' New York 

No more bend a prow 
By aching oracles ; not now, as before, 

In auguries blind 
The earthquake of a sovereignty to find; 
No more obey the rustle of the wind 

In a beech tree bough. 

" It is over now: 
To seek a bliss in deserts far away; 

To wrinkle a brow 
Over one soul (that only breathes a day) ; 

To live to be blest, 
And leave as infidels to die — the rest ; 
To kiss the cross upon a bloody quest; 

It is over, now. 

" O stars that turn pale. 
It is the dawn, and day is coming fast ; 
133 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

O outward-bound sail, 
The sea is blowing bright for thee at last ! 

At last do men know 
That God is hidden in their brother's woe; 
That God is given with themselves, and so 

This, this is the Grail! . . ." 



Thy voice is of seas; 
And after it, from very far away, 

Are winds in the trees, 
And sighings-down, and whispers gone astray, — 

Words and broken prayers . . . 
Oh, children's lips, and warm, young human 

cares ! 
Oh, bliss, and death, and endless toil of stairs ! — 

They are living these. 
134 



. New York 

Softly, like a spell, 
In one long breath the cold, clear evening skies 

Fade, and it befell 
That thou art turning home thy drooping eyes : 

City by the sea. 
This is the worth and wonderment of thee — 
Out of much pain much love shall also be. 

All's well, and all's well. 



135 



To a Little Girl Watering a Plant 
in the Window of a Tenement 

Little child, with little hands and feet, 

And face much too old; 
Above the pavements difficult v^^ith heat; 
Above the bedlam of the cobbled street ; 

Above Bought and Sold. 

No vj^aterpot of firkins to the brim; 

No rose tree to tend; 
A sprig of fern, a single leaflet slim. 
Out of a fissured teacup helping him 

To drink, like a friend. 

Yet in thy heart I read thee far away. 
In lands overseas; 
136 



To a Little Girl Watering a Plant 

Thou art a princess reigning in Cathay, 
Whom dusky slaves and courtiers obey, 
And kings hope to please. 

Mayhap but now thou art alone, and free 

To roam thy demesne; 
Mayhap dost seek the haunt most dear to thee, 
The hidden garden by the cypress tree 

None other has seen. 

Where lies a pond of lilies, in the gloom. 

With drops of blue sky; 
Where drift pale petals of unspared perfume. 
And Juno's peacocks prink and boast and plume, 

And winds softly sigh. 

Where, as thou comest, fragrant evening hies, 
With scarce filled-out sails; 
137 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Down steps of rose the drowsy daylight dies ; 
Behind dark trees Diana mounts the skies, 
And wake nightingales. 

Where music floats, in ever widening rings, 

Soft, from far away; 
From cool, white hands that fondle muted strings, 
And mingle melody with hearts and things 

They alone can say. 

But as thou kneelest, breathless, in the shade. 
Lovely, with thy hair . . . 

Against thy realm are enemies arrayed; 

A burst of discord makes the dream to fade 
At once into air. 

O little child, whose world is on the street, 
Dirty and defiled, 
138 



To a Little Girl Watering a Plant 

Go down thy dreams with little hands and feet; 
God give thy garden somewhere thou shalt 
meet, — 

Not here . . . little child. 



139 



The "Sandwich Man" 

The lights of town are pallid yet 

With winter afternoon; 
The sullied streets are dank and wet, 
The halted motors fume and fret, 

The world turns homeward soon. 

There is no kindle in the sky, 

No cheering sunset flame; 
I have no help from passers-by, — 
They part, and give good-night; but I 
Walk with another's name. 

I have no kith, nor kin, nor home 
Wherein to turn to sleep; 
140 



The "Sandwich Man" 

No star-lamp sifts me through the gloam, 
I am the driven, wastrel foam 
On a subsiding deep. 



I do not toil for love, or fame, 
Or hope of high reward; 
My path too low for praise or blame, 
I struggle on, each day the same, 
My panoply — a board. 



Who gave me life I do not know, 

Nor what that life should be, 
Or why I live at all; I go, 
A dead leaf shivering with snow, 
Under a worn-out tree. 
141 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

The lights of town are blurred with mist, 

And pale with afternoon, — 
Of gold they are, and amethyst: 
Dull pain is creeping at my wrist ... 

The world turns homeward soon. 



142 



Requiem in the Snow 

Winter and winds, the world is gone away 

With sorrow, to-day; 
Winter and winds, there are so many feet 

In the well-worn street. 

1 have such fear for him, lying at night 

Under all this white; 
Should we not heap on him better than mould ? 

Will he not be cold? 

Could we not gain from him one more goodbye, 

Tell him, you and I, 
All our great love for him, break through our 
sorrow 

Just till to-morrow? . . . 
143 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Could we but have from him one certain sign, — 

A flush, as of wine, 
Scarcely seen, yet assured of, one faint breath 

That death is not death! 

He is so dead; — his dear hands are so dead, 

And his manly head: 
One would think the smile he died with remained 

Lest his friends be pained. 

Who has forgotten how, short months ago. 
There was naught of snow, 

And the earth let loose her bright hair, and lay 
In a rapture of May? 

And children went wide in the fields at will? 

I can hear them still, 
Calling, and ever calling, tipped with joy, — 

Each girl and each boy. 
144 



Requiem in the Snow 

There were bird-songs then; and butterflies flew 

In a heaven of blue; 
And life was all laughter, and living, and gay, 

And — not like to-day. 

And he ... he also was glad with it, spoke 

Of how the buds broke. 
And fruit trees were tardy but promised well — 

No thought of farewell: 

No thought that he lived his last days on 
earth — 

Knew not their great worth 
Any more than we do, who think that our years 

Give defiance to fears. 

But where was the use of it ? — why live at all ? — 

One scarcely would call 

145 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Life, what completely was not come to flower: 
One over-short hour, 



And all that he promised, and thought to fulfil. 
Was — wholly made nil. 

All beginning, no ending; can life be 
Such waste as was he? 

I, for one, do not think it ; I maintain 

The drift in the grain 
Places the wood, — all one tree from the first : 

When the lightning burst 

Into its branches, and rived it with flame. 
We told the tree's name 

From the one splinter left us; it is so 
With a man, we know 
146 



Requiem in the Snow 

A friend through his changes of body, find 

A loved one still kind 
After ages of absence; in his face 

No need to replace. 

Though time has done much to turn us astray, 
With its sprinkled gray, 

And its care-lines ; but still — the soul shines 
through, 

The same that we knew. 

Here was a swimmer, headlong in the free, 

Unmerciful sea, 
Who lingered but a breath in that dark place, 

Then lifted his face 

Once more to its heaven; here was a flower, 
Plucked up, ere an hour, 
147 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

And carried to a garden, where it thrives; — 
Happiest of lives! 

Here is a song, unfinished for a kiss, 
Snuffed out for a bliss. 

But singing on in silence, and more sweet 
For that lips did meet 

And make it into joy. He is not dead. 

Only vanished: 
He left us this ... for proof that it was so ! 

This, and the late snow. 

Winter and winds, the world is gone away 

With sorrow, to-day; 
Winter and winds, there are so many feet 

In the well-worn street! 

148 



The Use of it All 

Music in the folded heart, — 
Is it more than pain? 

Murmurs out of storms that start, 
Are they only rain? 

All the folk-songs sung by trees; 

All the voice of night; 
All that thunders in with seas; 

All that birds recite: 

Every sighing of the sedge 

By the river's brink . . . 

Are but plightings of the pledge 

All the world doth drink. 
149 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Pledge of life, that lives it all, 

Even unto death; 
Pledge of love, that hears the call. 

Holding of its breath. 

From the silence of the soul. 

Hears the footsteps pass; 

Pauses, trembling, by the bowl 
Shivered into glass. 

Then, low down, hand over breast, 

Leans upon the sill; 
Sees the world new-manifest. 

Sees the good and ill. 

Life, that draws beyond the ken ; 
Death, that turneth home; 
150 



The Use of it All 

Years, mayhap threescore and ten, 
Days, that drift and roam. 

Sees the measure of its ways 
Spread before its feet; 

All the hopes of younger days, 
Memories that meet. 

Understands all mysteries, — 

Save its own, dread heart ; 

Looks far out, and over seas. 

Where sad ships depart. 

Then returns, new-clad and clean, 
In its own content; 

Having God in Heaven seen, — 
Knowing what He meant. 
151 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Love that suffers deep of heart, 
Findeth more than pain; 

Storms that out o'f oceans start . . . 
Go not forth in vain. 



152 



For Youth 

O WORLD full of years, that yet art youthful for- 
ever, 

Wrinkled and yare ; 
O world full of hearts that find in a day's en- 
deavor 

Too much to bear; 
O world, for the youth that life so soon will dis- 
sever, 

Receive our prayer. 

The children; — oh, give them fields, knee-deep 
in soft grasses. 

Wherein to hide, 
Wherein may be sprawled a length while Hunt- 
ing-Blind passes. 

And where abide 
153 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Tall daisies of June, and clumps of cloudy-haired 
lasses, 

Wonderful-eyed. 

Beguile them with gnarly-limbed trees, and fruit 
that beseeches 

Robbers to raid ; 
Allure them down brooks, and out on pebbly 
brown beaches, 

Featly to wade; 
Bring pools full of fish, and woods with Robin- 
Hood reaches. 

For outlaws made. 

Incite them with metes and bounds and a buried 
treasure 

Some pirate chief 
154 



For Youth 

Pent up and forsook, for their particular 
pleasure ; — 

Some swarthy thief, 
Tatooed with crimes, and sailing the sea at leisure, 
Till a coral reef 

Supplied retribution . . . leave the children the 
fancies 

Men have outgrown : — 
White petals invoked for sooth, and fluffs, for 
romances 

Breathlessly blown; 
That swales in the grass, and rings, are relics of 
dances 

By fairies sown; 

That winds in the woods are words and whispers 
of wonder; 

155 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Things that they knew 
Long since, and forgot ; and waves, when seas full 
of thunder, 

Breaking they brew, 
Are counsellors: — leave them the faith that lies 
under 

All that you do. 

Needs must that our bread be bought by dint and 
endeavor, 

With blood, and sweat; 
It needs that our eyes be clear, that our hands be 
clever 

The gain to get; 
'Tis well that we heed, well that we travail 
forever, 

And yet . . . and yet . . . 



156 



On a Maiden Narrowly Escaping 
Capture by a Shark 

After Gray 

There is an island, far away, 
Where, on a certain summer's day, 

A maiden fair to see, 
Uncareful of the breakers' din, 
Most venturelessly paddled in 

The blue and briny sea. 



Her hair was of the sunny hue 
Of rocky headlands lifting through 

A mist of flying foam; 
The star that fluttered in her eyes 
157 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Was as the star of evening skies, 
That speaks the sailor home. 



With slender arms she tossed aside 
The bright attentions of the tide, 

And sought the weedy crest 
Of one sea-circled rock, that rose 
Just at a height to leave her toes 

Clear of the ocean's breast. 



Small wonder that from every cave, 
And every little leaping wave, 

Adoring fish should come: 
Small wonder, that to view this maid, 
Old Neptune ventured, half afraid, 

And Triton, smitten dumb! 
158 



On a Maiden Escaping a Shark 

Meanwhile the maid sat sunning there, 
With languid arms and streaming hair, 

And far-ofF, wistful eyes; 
Till chanced a shark, a youthful knight. 
Adventuring the world, to sight 

This first and fairest prize. 

" Was e'er her like ? " said he. " Such charms 
Should only blossom in my arms ! " 

(Remember, though a fish, 
In dealing with our mortal kind 
'Twas only natural his mind 

Should frame a human wish.) 

But now the maiden drew her dreams 
In nearer circles, till the gleams 
Of something harmful in 
159 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

Her easeful ocean, caught her care. 
She looked, and soon descried there 
A black and rampant fin. 



Not lighter does a lost star die 
Into the over-arching sky. 

Than fled this maid to shore; 
Her loosened locks streamed in the wind; 
The billows bore her from behind, 

The foam flew on before. 

She's safe! at length; her lawless foe 
Back to his dreary wars must go, 

Uncompanied by bliss. 
She's safe! and on the yellow sand 
Is well content to take her stand, — 

A much demurer miss. 
1 60 



On a Maiden Escaping a Shark 

Be warned by this, ye maidens fair ; 
Be not too bold, nor everywhere 

Your witcheries display: 
And heed, young men, this fish's fault — 
Troy was not taken by assault, 

Nor Rome built in a day. 



i6i 



Alma Mater Yalensis 

O VOICE of a mother calling far; 

O song of the tide to the sea ; 
O breath of a breeze, O lift of a star, 

O love to eternity! 
Through the gloom and the vision, the drift and 
the dream; 

Through life and the golden trail ; 
Through the cost and the conquest, the gift and 
the gleam 

Thou callest, our Mother, Yale. 

The sword is quenched, the bow unstrung, 

The thunder and battle fall ; 
The gates with shouts are inward flung 

To the old, ancestral hall: 
162 



Atma Mater Yalensis 

The toast is set forth in bowls of flame 

Forever burning true; 
And homeward warriors pledge the name 

Their fathers' fathers knew. 

We have dwelt at thy feet in the cities of pride, 

And pleasured with roses and youth; 
We have measured thy strength with the strong 
and the tried, 

And marshalled in might of thy truth: 
There is living in alien lands, alone ; 

There is fighting where few prevail; 
There is losing, great loss, but thou art our 
own, — 

Forever, our Mother, Yale ! 



163 



The Troubadour 

Love me soon, love me soon; 
Love me, love me. Lady, soon. 

Thus the troubadour, a-trolHng, 

Light of heart and sweet of tune ; 

Down the hill at sunset strolling, — 
" Love me, love me, soon." 

In her ivied bower, dreaming, 
Sat the fairest of the fair; 

Heard the song, and sat a-seeming 
Lost in love beyond repair. 

" Ah, my knight, I love, I love thee, 
Now, and now, and long ago; 
164 



The Troubadour 

Do but lift thine eyes above thee, 

Do but breathe, and I shall know: 

" Oh, how sweet are love and singing ! " 
Low she laughed and soft she sighed ; 

Bade her maids, the rush-lights bringing, 
Set the crimson casement wide. 

On a stricken field lay dying 

One who loved the lady fair; 

Marked for death, but death denying, — 
Spent his life blood, debonair. 

" O my lady, is it ended. 

This, the life I held for thee? 
Is it thus, the strength I tended, 

Is it thus — no more to be? 
165 



The Sailor Who Has Sailed 

" Ah, my Sweet, I love, I love thee, 
Now, and now, and long ago; 

Could not lift my eyes above me. 

Could not give that thou should'st kno\y. 

" Love is not to speak, my dearest ; 

Love is not for laugh and song; 
Love is unto life the nearest; 

Not so near are death and wrong. 

" So I could not tell thee, ever ; 

So I could but live for thee; 
So I loved and fought, and never 

Wist thou. Lady, aught of me." 

In the twilight she sat yearning, 

Languid, where the moonlight lay; 
1 66 



The Troubadour 

Till the troubadour returning, 

Sang once more his roundelay. 

" 'Tis not sweet, but sadness bringing; 

Love is more than words a-tune ! " 
Cried the lady, and the singing 

Died away beneath the moon. 

Love me soouj love me soon; 
Love me, love me. Lady — soon. 



167 



For Art's Sake 

Out of the thought of undiscovered places 

Bring me a song ; 
Out of the look of strange, unspoken faces, - 

Out of their wrong, 
Out of false love and out of lost embraces, 

Bring me, oh, bring me a song. 



Let it be toned to very heart's undoing; 

Let it be strong ; 
Let it be brought not like a lover's wooing; 

Let it belong 
Unto lost souls for swift destruction suing. 

Sing me, oh, sing me a song. 
1 68 



For Art's Sake 

Sing me a song, that I may hear thee singing, 

Singing my song; 
Tune me harsh words, the while I see thee bring- 
ing 

Love that is strong; 
Sing me no joy, and I will know thy singing 
Is but a song, a song. 



169 



Like a Wave of the Sea 

Up from a misty, morning verge, 
From unfound seas I came; 

The sunrise rode upon my surge, 
My semblance was of flame. 

The memories of early stars 

Gave sparkle on my crest ; 
I leaped with light, and golden bars 

Made radiant my breast. 

But now my heart is torn with tides. 

And, fraught with weed and wrack, 

I follow gloomy tempest guides 
Around a bitter track. 
170 



Like a Wave of the Sea 

The murkiness of sunless days 

Is ever in my eyes; 
And ever on my weltered ways 

More baleful shadows rise. 

But shoaling sands at length shall make 
My journeyings complete : 

Oh, may I, in the darkness, break 
White ... at Thy waiting feet! 



171 



MOV 9 g 191- 



